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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049291">Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycroftpedia/pseuds/Mycroftpedia'>Mycroftpedia</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sherlock (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Established Relationship, Established Sherlock Holmes/John Watson, Fluff, Gryffindor John Watson, M/M, Parenthood, Ravenclaw Sherlock Holmes, Sherlock is an idiot in his way, and soft, it's not important to the story but it is for me</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-13 06:35:48</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>8,164</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29049291</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mycroftpedia/pseuds/Mycroftpedia</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Years pass and Rosie seems to have no magical skills.<br/>Sherlock panics.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Sherlock Holmes &amp; John Watson &amp; Rosamund Mary "Rosie" Watson, Sherlock Holmes/John Watson</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>28</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Every Little Thing She Does Is Magic</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>“John,” Sherlock silently reaches him upstairs, in his old bedroom. He had watch him for very </span>
  <span>long minutes, enchanted but doubtful “I think our daughter is a muggle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John turns immediately to him, an eyebrow raised, a bundle of blankets in his arms, an almost bald little head coming out of it.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What the hell are you saying?” He asks with his usual voice that stand for Sherlock Holmes, </span>
  <span>have you lost your mind? Sherlock indicates the baby with a nod “Look at her,” he says, with bitterness and a half sigh.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John manages to hold back an amused snort. He lowers his head, rather, to make him happy and,most importantly, because he can't stop watching that little creature who slept peacefully cradled by his movements. He smiles, then he returns to observe his silly husband.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm looking, yes,” he affirms proudly. Sherlock, on the contrary, doesn't change the expression on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You certainly understand what led me to this deduction, then,” this time, John sighs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, Sherlock, I do not understand. Can you explain it to me, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She's sleeping!” He exclaims, looking at him as if he's stupid, or blind, before an evidence with the size of a bisilisk.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John frowns “I can see that,” he says. He really tries to understand what Sherlock means, but sometimes, or most, it's so difficult and it becomes impossible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She's been sleeping for hours, John, she has been doing nothing but sleep all day!” The magical consultive detective continues, looking shocked and distraught.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“One day you will regret these moments of peace and serenity, believe me,” John jokes, then, he already fears the sleepless nights that would follow soon.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm serious, John,” Sherlock says, apparently offended.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John rolls his eyes “Okay, okay. I'm sorry. Can you explain to me what is the problem? I see </span>
  <span>nothing wrong with this.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She sleeps too much to be a witch, obviously. You know how muggles are: they sleep for hours during the night and then during the day, they fill up themself with that dark broth that gives them enough energy to face the rest of the day. And yet, they arrive in the evening weary as if they had played a 72-hour quidditch match. They have this senseless need to rest, and rest. Wizards, on the other hand, can stay whole days without closing their eyes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe you can stay days without sleep, but I, like everyone else, need to go to bed every night. And that's for Rosie, too,” the man replies, patient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Bad example, your parents are muggles. You have muggle blood in your veins, this only </span>
  <span>confirms my words.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” John begins, looking him straight in the eyes. “Rosie's born last week, children a week old need to sleep, even the magic ones. We just took her home after a stressful day in the hospital waiting room. It's normal that she sleeps, she's just a baby!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I don't know, John,” Sherlock continues, still, with a sigh, “I've never slept so much, not even </span>
  <span>when I was a newborn. I remember it very well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I can imagine,” John chuckles, weakly. Suddenly, he looks at Sherlock and his eyes widen; the other man starts to worry about what has to happen. “I just realized something.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” Sherlock echoes him, moving forward promptly, and watching the little girl carefully, </span>
  <span>trying to figure out what has escaped him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You haven't held her yet. Not once since she was born.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh.” Sherlock just pales and takes a step back; simultaneously John smiles cunningly and advances towards him. The detective backs away until he finds himself back against the wall, then he raises his hands upwards, shaking his open, agitated palms lightly. “John, no. I don't – no, I can't.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John doesn't frown, he doesn't seem surprised by these ways, rather he goes close to him “Courage,” he only tells him.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, I've never held one in my arms. I can't, John, please. I'll risk to make her fall,” he's in total panic, on another occasion the doctor would have avoided to force him so much, but this time he's too softened by the scene – and too in love to deny him such great pleasure.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You will not let her fall, courage. I'm here, trust me, it'll be alright,” he continues to whisper, as he begins to bring Rosie near him, the baby still blissfully asleep and unaware of that sweet struggle in progress around her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John n–”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not another word, Sherlock Holmes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Therefore, Sherlock silences – he always silences before John Watson's authoritative tone, that deep voice seems almost able to press a button that his brain is gifted with. Or this, or John has managed to invent a new spell capable of keeping him quiet. He has to investigate more thoroughly, by the way.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The child pass gently and cautiously from the mighty arms of John to the Sherlock's most </span>
  <span>inexperienced; the doctor's hands help his partner to assume the correct position, while the other is more and more enchanted by what is happening.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You see? You're doing great.” John smiles ecstatically, his eyes on Sherlock's surprised and </span>
  <span>amazed face that looks over at Rosie as if she is the most precious treasure in the world - and she really is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She's beautiful,” he murmurs in a low voice, as if he's afraid of breaking the intense moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes, she is,” John says, nodding his head several times, thoughtfully. Without realizing it, he </span>
  <span>pats Sherlock's back with one hand, as he begins to caress Rosie's little head with the other, “You both are,” he adds, moved.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It is not easy to organize a ceremony. There are too many things to think about: inviteds, </span>
  <span>refreshment, photographer, restaurant, church, tables, music, flowers, clothes. Sherlock and John, with their lifestyle – according to some, questionable, never have time to deal with all these points, and for this reason they've decided not to make their marriage a matter of state.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They have presented themselves, a little less than two years ago, to the ministry with their </span>
  <span>witnesses and so it was.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They didn't care too much about it, at the time. To be fair, they alway thought they were a married couple since Hogwarts, and Sherlock had repeatedly said there was no need for a ring to testify what was between them.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But for Rosie it is different, Rosie deserves only the best things and this means a big baptism, with all their dearest friends celebrating her.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talking about that,” John begins, once back in the living room after putting the baby to sleep “did your parents respond to the invitation?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Talking ‘bout what?” Sherlock asks in response, without looking up from his potion that was </span>
  <span>beginning to take on a greenish color in the cauldron places right in the middle of the kitchen.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John rolls his eyes – for the sixth time in the day “We were talking about baptism, before I </span>
  <span>brought Rosie to sleep.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock continues to pay more attention to the steaming cauldron “You were talking about it, John. I wasn't responding.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock,” John scolds him, exasperated. Seeing that, however, in the other, the authoritarian tone used has no effect, he decides to let it go and let him win at least that battle. “Just tell me if some other relative will come with your parents, I have to finish arranging the tables,” saying this, he goes automatically to take the wand left on his desk just a short time ago, he quickly waves it and, in less than one second, the paper with all the places already assigned appears under his nose – this is becoming his nightmare.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't worry about it, my family will not come,” Sherlock replies, as if nothing has happened. John looks at him stunned and worried.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They don't come?” Sherlock doesn't seem to have heard him in the least; he adds attentively, a spleen of bat in the liquid and waits, without batting an eyelid, for it to turn yellow. He begins to mix the liquid and, for a few moments, in 221 B, the only audible sound is that of the fire on which the cauldron lays. “Sherlock, would you mind considering me for at least five minutes, please?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock makes a face, shakes his wand and watches the ladle begin to turn by itself in the cauldron clockwise. When everything seems under control, he turns to John. “I’m listening, but I have only five minutes, then I need to go back to the potion or the work of the last hours will be completely useless.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John ignores that note, more important things are at stake now, the absurde experiment that keeps Sherlock busy in the last few days can wait. “You were talking about your parents,” he says, calmly.  </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes,” the other confirms, waiting for his husband to add anything. John, however, ignores his expression  – after all these years, he has just lost hope for such things.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What do you mean they will not be there?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What’s so hard to understand?” nothing, clearly, but John couldn’t really process that. He met Sherlock’s parents when the two of them were Hogwarts’ students, and they always seemed nice to him, and most importantly, they seemed to care about their son. How could they not come to the baptism of Rosie?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do they have problems with the date?” He tries, asking himself if it’s the case of changing it, even if he knows it’s pretty much impossible by now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No,” Sherlock says. John frowns, he starts to worry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are they- are they okay?” He asks.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock seems annoyed. “Yes, John, they’re fine. You know Mycroft, he’s always checking this kind of thing. He’s obsessed with the health of the entire family.” He answers. He just wants to return to his potion – which is coloured by orange, now.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So why don't they come?!” John asks again, impatient.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I didn’t tell them.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I’m sorry what? What do you mean?” He exclaims, in shock. Sherlock has never been particularly enthusiastic about his family, everybody knows that; he loves them, of course, - even if he would have preferred to swallow an entire cauldron of polyjuice potion than admit it - but he’s still trying to keep everyone far away from them. He’s never explained why, but that’s a little too much. Even for Sherlock. “She’s their first and, probably, only niece, Sherlock. They must be there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Your parents aren’t coming, though,” Sherlock observes, as if it is a competition, or a spite. Or both. John curls his lips.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“My parents hate magic and I haven’t heard from them in years. It’s not the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock glares at him. “You can’t </span>
  <em>
    <span>always</span>
  </em>
  <span> play that card as an excuse.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John doesn’t understand him, he really doesn’t understand what keeps Sherlock away from his parents. He thought of his parents, at all the problems magic had brought between them, at their frightened and disgusted looks, at all the fights, and at all the pain. He would have given anything to have parents like the Holmes, with oddities and all the rest. Sometimes he believes Sherlock keeps them away just so he doesn’t have to feel the absence of those figures in his life, but he never had the courage to ask him that question.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>On the other hand, he perfectly knew he would never answer.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mycroft will be there, isn’t that enough?” Sherlock asks, anyway, before returning to his potion. How to tell him that he would gladly trade his brother for his parents?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, that’s not enough. How will they react, in your opinion, when they find out they were not invited?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Think about their faces when they will find out we have a Muggle in the family.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John rolls his eyes. “Here we go again,” he sighs. “First of all, your sister has been at Azkaban for seventeen years and your brother got engaged only last month. I’m pretty sure nothing can surprise them anymore,” he begins, seriously, both of his hands on the table in front of him, ignoring Sherlock’s grimaces. “Secondly, stop thinking Muggles are stupid, they’re not all like Anderson,” he ignores the sarcastic murmur that came out from Sherlock’s mouth “and third, Rosie is not a Muggle, or at least she’s too little for us to know it.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“At her age I had already cast my first spell,” Sherlock replies, completely ignoring the point of his speech with a shrug.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“She’s only six months old, no, you didn’t.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I tell you, yes, I did.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“All right!” The man blurts out, theatrically raising his arms “I’ll call my parents. Happy? Will you let me finish my potion, now? Mycroft’s birthday is near and the slimming potion isn’t finished yet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Yes and, by the way, I don’t think it’s an appropriate gift. It’s a bit... offensive.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock raises the corner of his mouth in a cynical smile. “This is the purpose of the gift, John.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After that little discussion, the organization goes downhill. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It isn’t really complicated to decide Rosie’s godmother (actually,</span>
  <em>
    <span> godmothers,</span>
  </em>
  <span> in their case) and godfather; Sherlock and John agreed they couldn’t choose between Molly and Mrs Hudson so they asked both of them, and then Lestrade was pleasantly surprised, enthusiastic and moved by the idea.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The Holmes arrive in London about a week before the ceremony, they stay at Mycroft and Greg’s house but spend most of their time in Baker Street, cuddling the little girl. Sherlock was bothered at first; John, on the other hand, was immediately happy to have someone babysitting Rosie while they were with the clients.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Harry arrives the night before the event with muggle toys for the child - once alone in their bed, Sherlock expresses his doubts out louds about Rosie playing with those things (“Think at Anderson or Donovan, John, they grew up with that junk and look at the results, now.” “Me and Harry also played with it, Sherlock, and we are not stupid.” “Well, you’re a wizard and came to Hogwarts when you were eleven, and Harry could be the exception who proves the rule.”) Anyway, his sister stays for the night at the 221B, sleeping on their couch. Another thing that annoyed Sherlock who used to wake up after a few hours of sleep and lie there, holed up in his mind palace.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The next day, the ceremony is successful and the reception seems to be going well. Rosie laughs all the time, happy to be the center of attention and to pass from arms to arms and be pampered by all the guests, at least until Mrs. Holmes’ magic words.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know, John, none of our family has ever been sorted into Hufflepuff” she begins, playing with the little girl's hand, who is now comfortably seated in her father's arms, "the Holmes have been Ravenclaws for generations, Mycroft and Eurus, both Slytherins, have been the only exception. And you were a Gryffindor! Wouldn't it be wonderful if the little girl was sorted among the Hufflepuffs? She would be the first of the family!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John blushes, moved and honored to feel included in that family picture. “Well, it's still early to think about it” he says, or at least he tries, before being blocked by Sherlock, who was discussing a case with Greg just a few seconds before.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mom, what John is trying to tell you is that there is no need to think about certain things, because Rosie will never go to Hogwarts.” Mrs. Holmes puts on a surprised expression, with her mouth open for several seconds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Don't pay attention to his words,” John says, then, turning to the woman in a reassuring tone, after glaring at his husband "he’is convinced that Rosie is a Muggle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I am convinced of it because she</span>
  <em>
    <span> is,</span>
  </em>
  <span>” he replies, offended. "She hasn’t cast her first spell yet," he informs his mother with a grave voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s early, Sherlock. I must have told you that a thousand time” John reproaches him again, while Rosie, sitting on her legs, looks at their exchange, enchanted, looking from one to the other with a firm hand in his mouth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It’s not that early. She’s almost seven months old, my first spell happened at five. I remember it like it was yesterday!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You can't really remember that. And, no, you </span>
  <em>
    <span>can't</span>
  </em>
  <span> have done it so soon.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well...” Mrs. Holmes murmurs in a low voice. Sherlock puts on a victorious expression, John widens his eyes, alarmed.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Five months?!” He almost yells, the nearest tables turn immediately to observe the curious scene.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“He was also behind the times” continues the woman, thoughtfully “Mycroft and Eurus were both four months old, like me and my husband. And my brothers and –” she pauses for a second to gather her thoughts, she seems to list in her mind all members of the Holmes family, even the ones they barely know. “In fact, now that I think about it, I think my great grandfather was only a couple of months old, he was a very powerful wizard.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I need a drink,” John proclaims, then, passing Rosie to Sherlock and walking away after one of the waiters, rubbing his head. He swallows a glass of wine and tries to stay out of the crowd.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock, entrusted his little girl to the care of his mother, quickly reaches him, wraps his arms around his waist and hugs him from behind his back, resting his chin on his husband's left shoulder.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Are you okay?" He asks, whispering in his ear, not too worried since he was more than able to guess, or rather, to deduce the answer by himself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Yeah, it's just a lot of information to assimilate" murmurs the other, still shocked by what he just heard. “You know, I thought I was a very good wizard, but now I feel so stupid.” Sherlock chuckles, amused by his tone of voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"It’s the Holmes’ genes, John, don't take it personally," he tells him, leaving a quick kiss on his neck. This relaxes John, so much so he lets himself go, first in a smile and then in a little laugh. It is obvious that Sherlock Holmes has cast his first spell in a few months of his life, just as it is obvious that the rest of his family have been even earlier than him. The famous genes of the Holmes, it's really nothing he didn't already know; and he really can't be surprised that Sherlock grew up with the belief that all the other people he meets along his way are perfect idiots and clueless.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not all wizards and witches are like you, Sherlock” he reiterates softly, caressing the hands that still hold him tight “the time will come for Rosie too, trust me. Just - don't panic, and don't try to force things” he continues, closing his eyes and bringing his head back to rest it on his shoulder while the other straightens up to make him comfortable. Sherlock is silent for a long time, John sighs patiently. “And if she isn't a witch, we will love her anyway, and we will support her on whatever Muggle road she chooses to take,” he says firmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Of course I would love her anyway" Sherlock replies quickly, as if he suddenly has woken up from a dream. He doesn't seem offended by his words, yet there is something haunting him, annoying him. John turns to face him, watching him patient, respecting his times.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock keeps his gaze down for a while, eventually deciding to look right in the eyes of the man he loves. “It's just that - people are bad, John. I don't want her to be marginalized, I don't want her to be made fun of. The Pureblood families I met were so intolerant of Muggles, remember the Moriarty brothers, at school? It was only the first year when Jim dropped Molly Hooper from the broom.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You took her promptly, yes, I remember" confirms John nodding slightly, the memories of many years before returning to the surface of his mind. He remembers that day pretty well, because, among other things, since then, Molly never misses an opportunity to get Sherlock's attention.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He looks at the man and notices his distant gaze, his eyes worried. He shares his fear: he lived that experience (even with roles reversed) with his parents who never accepted magic, he would kill rather than allow the same thing to happen to his daughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We won't allow it, Sherlock,” he says, more than firmly, “she’s our little girl and our job is to protect her. At least until she is old enough to kick anyone who annoys her, with or without powers.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock lets out a sly smile “If she takes your temper, I'm almost sorry for those poor people." John gives him a look, hitting him softly on the shoulder while the other laughs.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>"Look who’s talking!" he says, pretending to be offended. He has no way to add anything else, silenced by Sherlock's warm lips that rest gently on his, caressing them calmly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock promises him not to try to force and advance the times, with Rosie, as well as he assures him not to panic further if said spell did not occur before the girl's seventh birthday – they agreed on that after a long discussion. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Obviously these good intentions have a short life, John is not even too surprised.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He returns home after a hard day at work in St Mungo's (a group of inexperienced young wizards tried to dematerialize with disastrous results, followed by a man who risked poisoning himself after trying a love potion realized by himself) with the only desire to hug his baby, relax with a hot bath and end the evening lying on the sofa with Sherlock in his arms.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>But the noise coming from his apartment soon convinces him to postpone his plans, not announcing anything good. He pulls himself together and takes a deep breath as he places his right hand on the door handle, terrified of what he can find once it is opened: he hears Rosie laughing and Sherlock's theatrically exasperated voice, but what really worries him are the noises of objects thrown from one side of the room to the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually, pushed by the sound of what looks to him like one of the jar Harry gave him, falls and shatters into a thousand pieces, he enters the house, surprising his husband. Sherlock, standing in the center of the living room, and Rosie, sitting in John's chair, turn to look at him simultaneously. John opens his mouth, bewildered. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>It’s chaos, he doesn't think he has ever seen anything like this in his entire life. The ceramic shards of his sister's jar are right at his feet, everywhere there are books and papers scattered, he glimpses various Rosie's games scattered throughout the room, the pieces of a magical puzzle (finished in about forty days) are now in every corner, perhaps even under the bookcase and under the armchairs and sofas - he almost faints – and, finally, he finds himself stepping on a mushy substance, once he has taken some steps to enter the house.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“This – is this Rosie's dinner?” He exclaims, a little surprised, disgusted and annoyed. What's the girl's dinner doing under his shoe, as well as on the rest of the floor? He looks around and also catches sight of his green plastic bowl, then looks at Sherlock with an unkind expression on his face.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's a long story,” he stutters, a hand in his curls, nervous, as he begins to pick up some books.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Do I want to know?” John asks, picking up a nearby sheet of newspaper and wiping the sole of his shoe with the face of a rather indignant Minister of Magic.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Maybe not” exclaims the other innocently, then he approaches Rosie who immediately leans towards him and takes her in his arms “to keep it short, Rosie wanted to learn the appeal spell. We wanted to surprise you” he justifies himself, bringing him the little girl who still laughs happily.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Rosie wanted to learn the spell,” he repeats skeptically and sarcastically, erasing the annoyed expression from his face to make way for a beaming smile as soon as his daughter is near him, with her arms turned towards him. John takes her right away and prints a kiss in her blonde hair.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“So I have to assume, this disaster was her doing?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Not really,” Sherlock confesses, slightly coughing, guilty. It's the best confession he can get, so he decides maybe it's best to leave it alone.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You know what? Maybe it's better not to know” he says, just before turning to look at the baby with a beaming smile “Now we're going to take a bath while Daddy cleans everything up - by himself. What do you say, do you like this idea?” Rosie claps her hands twice emphasizing with a chuckle.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock wrinkles his nose “It'll take a second, a couple of spells are enough and –” John was quicker and takes the wand from his hands.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No. Alone. Without magic, the good old Muggle way.” Sherlock pales.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It will take me hours, John.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Watson smiles, starting to walk towards the bathroom. “Take it easy, my love.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>It's a day like any other, John and Sherlock have just returned home after leaving an </span>
  <em>
    <span>almost</span>
  </em>
  <span> crime scene (the detective, at the moment, seems more than determined to haunt Lestrade for the rest of his life for bothering him for no reason). After eating the dinner that Mrs Hudson, thoughtfully, had materialized on their table, John goes upstairs to Rosie's room to play with her, while Sherlock sits at his desk with a pen and inkwell, and begins to write an essay on Auror incompetence.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>None of them have the suspicion that that day would soon turn into a special memory, so Sherlock is so alarmed hearing John's voice calling him urgently.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Sherlock? Sherlock you must come immediately! Hurry up!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John –” the detective rushes down the small flight of stairs, jumping steps without realizing it, in anxiety. “Are you okay? Is Rosie okay?” He asks, still out of the room, breathless with fear, his wand in his hand – even if he is not yet clear what he can do with it. He is, however, and fortunately, in front of a euphoric John, who holds their baby in his arms and who now looks at him with a dazzling smile on his face. “What – what's going on?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I think she’s about to say her first word!” He exclaims enthusiastically. Sherlock notices his eyes slightly veiled with tears of emotion, and even him, hearing those words, starts to feel strange, his heart in his throat.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you sure?” Sherlock questions, his rational nature prevails, as usual.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He positions himself next to his husband and smiles at the little girl who returns his gaze, happy and curious to see him and, above all, so much attention on herself.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Listen –” says the doctor, his gaze on Rosie. “Come on, Rosie. Make the dads listen to what you have to say. Come on, darling, repeat what you did a moment ago”. He starts moving his mouth slowly, without letting out a single sound, as if to encourage the little girl to imitate him and repeat the scene that just happened. Sherlock watches, waiting.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“M –” Rosie grumbles, the clear eyes pointed on the lips of John that continue to open in silent words. “M – mu” repeats the little girl, before putting a little hand in her mouth and nodding her head satisfied.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock raises an eyebrow and looks at John cautiously. “</span>
  <em>
    <span>Mu</span>
  </em>
  <span> it's not really a word, John,” he says, speaking tactfully to him, as if he's giving him the worst news of his life.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John watches him for a while, then shakes his head. “Wait, it takes time for these things. She is trying to speak, I tell you!” That said, they both look back at Rosie, who reciprocates with curiosity.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sighs, deciding to cooperate. “Come on honey, you can do it” he urges her too, imitating John and starting to mimic imaginary sounds.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie removes her hand from her mouth, changing her expression to a more determined one. “Mu – mu” she repeats “mu – mu –”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mug?” John murmurs, uncertainly.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Murder?” Sherlock echoes him, now quite intrigued.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Mug – mug – gle.” silence falls in the apartment, both men observe their daughter, unable to turn around to look into each other's eyes, unable to utter a word or perhaps even to realize what has happened. They just get reassured because Rosie doesn't add anything else, maybe they misunderstood those sounds, maybe it's a coincidence, she cannot have really said “Muggle! Muggle! Muggle!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time John turns to Sherlock, mouth wide open and eyes full of fire – the little one keeps saying that single word happily, clapping her hands in satisfaction – “not a word” he hisses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock, dazed and guilty, nods silently, not daring to return his husband's gaze; an excuse for both of them to hide that veil of tears just materialized under their eyes, victims of the pride and emotion of having heard, in any case, the first real word of their daughter.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>In their life as a couple, John and Sherlock disagreed on several things, some more important and others decidedly more foolish, so it’s not new for John to see Sherlock's wide eyes and wide open mouth on hearing his suggestion.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This is his “</span>
  <em>
    <span>John Watson, are you kidding me?</span>
  </em>
  <span>” kind of look: the incredulous features, the hands (perpetually engaged in some potion or some essay to write) still in midair, motionless, the head slightly - almost imperceptibly, bent to the right. John has got used to it, he sees it all too often and now he has to force himself to hold back a laugh that would have been unpleasant and would have done nothing but hurt the feelings of the man he loves.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Say something, love” he urges him, coughing slightly, hiding his mouth behind his closed fist, in order to cancel the laughter once and for all. The reality is that he was prepared for this type of reaction, so much so that he'd be amazed by the contrary. Definitely.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You're not kidding, then,” Sherlock notes, his body petrified in the same position, his voice totally colorless, his eyes fixed on him – he doesn't even blink.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You are very deductive this morning” he teases the other, earning an annoyed look – well, at least he managed to provoke a reaction, John takes it as a personal victory. “Let's see, what's the problem?” He asks at the end, after having sighed softly, becoming serious again since, for once, the matter is really important.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Are you really asking me?” The detective echoes him. John nods silently, even though he can already imagine what's going through his husband's mind, but he needs to hear him say it out loud so he can argue and change his point of view. Or, at least, try to. Sherlock stares at him for endless seconds before starting to speak. “I find Muggle school to be completely useless: the most important things, like reading or writing or counting, we can teach her ourselves.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I remind you that before I came to Hogwarts, I went to a Muggle school myself. I don't think it's useless, Sherlock. Indeed, it was fundamental for me. But it's not just a matter of learning how to read or how to write, you know that.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“No, John, I don't know,” Sherlock says firmly, rolling his eyes. “You want her to make friends with the muggle children of the school,” he says. John waits to point out that, just the night before, he told him gravely that he was sure Rosie was a Muggle because she ate all her vegetables without even trying to fly them out the window.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Is it bad that Rosie makes friends with other children?” he just asks cautiously. Sherlock shakes his head, then looks at him or better, looks at something on the other side of the room, lost in his thoughts. He makes a face at the end and tries to turn his back to John, but the other runs after him. “What's up?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's just – forget it, I don't want to piss you off.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John frowns. “A really great way to dissuade me, Sherlock Holmes,” he says sarcastically, crossing his arms across his chest. “Tell me what's on your mind, I won't be angry, I promise. I just want to understand your position.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock quickly runs his hands through his dark curls, before nervously scratching his head, as if he’s indecisive. “ just think friends – or making friends is overrated, that's all.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really,” Watson chuckles, misunderstanding his tone. Only at the end, when he notices his serious and determined eyes, he immediately stops laughing and puts on an expression a little worried and a little hurt. “Oh God, you're serious,” he notes, in a low voice.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I knew you would be angry.” Sherlock snorts.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I'm not mad,” John says immediately, to reassure him “I just don't understand how you can say such a thing. How can you say it to </span>
  <em>
    <span>me</span>
  </em>
  <span>?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Holmes looks at his husband, confused “You? What do you mean?” He asks, naively.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I've been your best friend for years, Sherlock.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“You were in love with me, John, it's not the same.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Molly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Really, John?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Lestrade. He genuinely loves you, you know that. And you care about him too.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Gary is first of all your friend. I am only a consequence of your relationship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“How can you think that?!”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“John, admit it. He and I would never have even exchanged a word if you hadn't been there.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John scratches his head thoughtfully. “But when I was dating Mary, in sixth grade... you two were very good friends.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock wrinkles his nose in response. “To keep me from catching the snitch she tried to drop me from a height of 400 meters at the first Quidditch match of the seventh year. It doesn’t seem like a thing friends do to each other.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Okay, okay. Bad example” he coughs, he’d always had a bad taste in women. “Victor.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>This time, Sherlock frowns. “Victor moved in the middle of the fourth year. And I was completely alone, before I met you,” he says, with a sigh; he doesn't look into his eyes, determined to get back to his work as soon as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But you were friends from childhood, and despite the distance you two stayed in touch. He is, or if you prefer he was, an important person in your life. Do you really think you would have been better off without him, without his friendship?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John knows he has made a good point, but Sherlock insists on staying silent, the thought of Victor has upset him a little, as he always does. He doesn't know how to tell him that, yes, he believed that his life would be simpler, the absence of Victor would have avoided all the suffering and emptiness that his departure had unleashed in him. But Sherlock also knows that, if he had the choice, he would never have had the strength to give up what had been his first best friend.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fortunately, he is not forced to reveal to John that sentimental thought that was going through his head, thanks to the sudden and timely interruption of little Rosie, who rushes to them in a hurry.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Daddy, papa!” Sherlock immediately intercepts his baby's intention, so he lowers himself on his lap and catches her just as she begins to stretch out her arms. She has a piece of paper in her hand, which she tends towards John who immediately positions himself next to the two.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Look at our little artist!” He exclaims, once he takes the paper and admires it for good. He then turns it to Sherlock; it is nothing more than a drawing of the three of them: Rosie appears much taller than normal, Sherlock’s arms are longer than his legs and a dot in place of his right eye. Pictured are also the 221B and Speedy's, which Rosie especially loves because the owners always offer her treats. But what captures their attention is an immense pink ball, which fills practically all the space. The gigantic ball apparently has two eyes and a smiling mouth, it is bigger than everything else, even the building they live in, but both men immediately understand what it is.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They'd taken the baby to Diagon Alley for the first time two days ago, and she'd been talking about the pygmy puff they'd seen in the pet shop ever since. Basically, that's the undoubtedly creative way Rosie has found to make them understand her desire to own one.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiles, stroking the girl's cheek in his arms with his nose, before kissing her quickly in the same spot. “It's beautiful, honey. Why don't you go get what we need to attach it to the fridge" The little girl nods enthusiastically, Sherlock makes her get out and watches her walk away towards her room with a skipping step.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John lays his head on his shoulder, Sherlock takes him by the hips, both eyes on Rosie who is climbing the stairs one step at a time, very focused.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“The thing is, Sherlock, there will be some people who will make her suffer, others who will make her laugh and others that will make her angry. It's part of life, we can't stop it, you know it well.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock sighs again, before nodding. “I know this, John. It’s just... aren't you afraid of seeing her suffer?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>John looks at him, the other immediately imitates him, they stare at each other right in the eyes. “I'm terrified,” he confesses.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock places a tender kiss on his forehead, placing his lips on his skin for a few seconds. But the time for serious talk is over now, Rosie is already back with scotch tape, pencils and sheets of paper and, soon, all three find themselves sitting on the floor showing off their dubious artistic talent.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>*</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa – why can't I do any magic?” Sherlock remains with the toad legs in his hand, yet another potion of his creation to boil under his gaze begins to turn a pleasant blue. He raises his head, and meets the sad eyes of his daughter, standing in front of the kitchen table. She looks at him in search of comfort, of an explanation, of a promise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>For Rosie, Sherlock is the one capable of solving all problems, there is not a knot, a puzzle, a case, that he cannot unravel and solve. It is her safe haven, her anchor. She doesn't cry, she feels the need tho but holds back the tears, because the last word, the one that matters most, is that of his father. Always.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And Sherlock knows this well, he manages to decipher it from the eyes of the child, from her steady legs and trembling hands, from her mouth that grimaces the shadow of a grimace of pain. And he really would like to answer her with a more than logical explanation, but he can't do it; this time, he doesn't know the answer either.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Every wizard and every witch needs their time, Rosie,” he then decides to resort to what had become the classic answer that John gave him to reassure him on the subject.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“But William and Lizbeth are smaller than me and both have shown they have powers” of course, Sherlock thinks, Mycroft has beaten him on time since they were children and now his children do the same thing with Rosie: history repeats itself, maybe there really is something in their DNA that keeps putting the Holmes in competition.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It's not a competition, Rosie,” he manages to say, feeling like a hypocrite – for him, everything had been, and still is, a competition, when it comes to his brother, “and that doesn't make them more powerful than you, anyway,” he says, staring at her “They cast their first spell, and so what? They may not be good enough for the Transfiguration, or for the flight. They may not be able to tell the difference on a sniper and a platypus,” he thinks back, with a grimace, to the idiots of his school years, completely denied with the care of magical creatures. “While you will be a brilliant witch, I'm willing to bet.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie, however, does not seem at all reassured by that speech, quite the contrary. She lowers her head and looks at the tips of her shoes for several seconds, her brain in motion: she wonders if it is appropriate to fully express her fears. She is tormented, Sherlock obviously understands that, they torture themselves in these seconds of silence, but the man in no way wants to force her to speak.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Eventually Rosie decides to tell the truth “I might not be a witch, I might be a Muggle.” She states, suddenly feeling humiliated by her own words, nervous and anxious about her father's reaction, terrified by the weight that sentence carries with.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>And hearing this, Sherlock suddenly opens his eyes. Hearing Rosie herself express aloud what for years has been his fear, ignites something inside him, like a mechanism that has remained stuck until that moment.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He understands that for all that time, for all those years, for the whole childhood of his daughter, he has done nothing but exaggerate the matter; he only realizes in that instant that it's not such a problem after all. Indeed, it is not a problem at all. Rosie can be a witch, and Rosie may be devoid of any magical power, it would be okay in any way. Rosie is a bright, very bright, loving, intelligent, curious, lively child, She is the person he loves the most in the world, along with John, and her powers have nothing to do with their bond.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He loves his daughter, just as she is. He loves to watch her while she is intent on perfecting again and again a drawing she particularly cares about, before showing it to them proudly and proud of the result. Or he loves when she begs him to walk past that pet shop right by the bookstore, hoping to get them both to adopt a puppy or to console herself with a new book from the young adult's literature shelf – children's books her age have already begun to tire her. And he loves her too when she begs to take her to a crime scene, he loves her smile that lights up her face when John agrees to let her watch the most boring and safe cases. Every smile, every tear, every hug, every laugh, every caress – they are magic in some ways, the greatest magic of all, the one that matters most to Sherlock, the one he would never live without. But how to explain this to Rosie, a girl who’s only eight?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He lets go of the potion he's working on, not bothering to sort out the ingredients scattered on the table; he silently approaches his daughter, who still looks at her feet discouraged, lowers himself on his knees to reach her height, observes her metallic blue eyes, like John's, look at him confused, and then he holds her in his arms. Without saying a word, he hugs her as if it depended on the lives of both of them, knowing that this certainly cannot be enough to reassure and comfort her, but what else can he do? He was never good with words and now he hates himself for it, he hates himself for not being able to help Rosie the way he would.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The little girl, after a few moments of uncertainty and indecision, returns his hold, closing her eyes and letting herself be lulled by the strong arms of her father. She doesn't understand the reason for that sudden hug, but somehow it turns out to be useful to calm her nerves, after all it comes from one of her two favorite men, those arms have always made her feel protected and loved, and this time certainly it’s not different.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>They both want to cry, for different reasons, but both are now adept at fighting back tears and showing themselves strong, in any situation, for the sake of the other.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock strokes her blonde hair, “I don't know if that's what's bothering you, but you don't have to think of it as disappointing us, Rosie,” he starts, whispering softly “Never. Your father and I are proud of you, we will always be proud of you. You have a pure, courageous, strong heart. I know you are destined to do great things, as a witch or a muggle. Whatever your world will be, it's lucky to have you.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie, despite her best efforts, cannot hold back a small sob; she holds her father as tightly as she can, hiding her face in the hollow of his neck, while he continues to stroke her hair softly, with immense sweetness. “But… Hogwarts –” she manages to say, at one point: Sherlock cannot understand if that is really her biggest concern – as it should be, given her age, or not.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Hogwarts is not that great,” he then exclaims with a sigh, making her smile and interrupting the embrace to observe her with a grimace “most of the teachers are incompetent, I would be able to teach you more things than them, that's for sure.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Doesn't your friend Irene teach there?” She asks, who has often heard the name of that woman whom she has never known from her parents, with a confused look. The man nods.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Exactly, Transfiguration. She was the best of our year, after me – don't tell your father that I said this!” he adds quickly, suddenly worried at the idea of his husband's senseless jealousy of Irene Adler.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie chuckles at her father's plea. “You will teach me everything about Hogwarts? What about the history of magic?” She asks, hopefully and enthusiastically.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiles tenderly, nodding his head “Of course yes. And I'll teach you how to make all the potions you want. If you are good, I could make you my assistant.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Rosie lights up “What about magical creatures?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“We will take you to Scotland, to the largest reserve of Creatures in the Wizarding world.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What about Quidditch?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock rolls his eyes. “That's your father's stuff, I'm afraid. I played it for a couple of years but I always found its rules quite stupid. I'm done with the golden snitch or quaffle.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The girl smiles, before leaning over for a second hug. “I love you, papa.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Sherlock smiles, suddenly relieved that he has managed to calm his little girl down one way or another. Maybe John would have fared better than him, he would surely have found the right words to lift her mood and allay her fears. His husband is certainly better prepared in that field, everything comes more naturally to him, perhaps because he has already practiced dealing with him for years.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What happens here?” They both look up: John has just returned home, his eyes shine radiant as he watches them from the front door with a mixture of tenderness and, above all, surprise.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Papa said we're going to Scotland and he'll teach me how to make potions because at Hogwarts everyones are stupid!” Rosie exclaims immediately, enthusiastic, running to hug John to welcome him back, before running to her room probably to take one of Scamander's books, her favorites, as if everything that just happened had been erased from her mind, like it happens when you are suddenly awakened from a dream.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“What?!” John manages to ask, in vain, barely understanding the meaning of those words. He looks at his husband then, bewildered and suspicious. “What did I miss?” He asks again, Sherlock smiles at him, stands up and joins him in order to give him a kiss on the shaved cheek just that morning.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“There was a little crisis, but we got over it."”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Oh really?” He replies, raising an eyebrow and placing his hands on his hips, to bring him towards him “In this case, I'm proud of you,” he affirms with a sincere smile while the other bends his head just to leave. to kiss.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“And you are right to be, Dr. Watson.”</span>
</p><p><br/>
<span>(</span>
  <em>
    <span>Those fears are finally wiped out a year and a half later, or so, when Rosie blows up one of the good service teacups, under Sherlock entranced and John's shocked eyes - those memories, as they watch her getting on the Hogwarts Express for the first time, seem to belong to a different life. “I told you,” Sherlock murmurs to his husband, while the train begins to move under their eyes “I always knew this day would come.” John rolls his eyes, wipes a tear of emotion as his 11-year-old daughter disappears from his vision, and then lets himself be hugged by Sherlock, ignoring the rest of the people on the platform.</span>
  </em>
  <span>)</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I didn't write in months and this is a very old work, but I missed this site and I don't like to keep certain stories just for myself. I've always been a fan of potterlock and hogwarts au in general, I needed to post it here too.<br/>Hope you enjoyed it :)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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